


Loves a Ruin

by sickdreamsaremadeofthis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brainwashing, Dehumanization, Disturbing Fluff, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort from Tormentor, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loss of Identity, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Disintegration, Mental Instability, Mind Games, Objectification, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Psychopaths In Love, Ramsay is his own warning, Sadism, Sexual Confusion, Some Explicit Language, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Withholding Comfort, repressed sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2318303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickdreamsaremadeofthis/pseuds/sickdreamsaremadeofthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay/Reek  Ramsay loves a ruin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loves a Ruin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanjcsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanjcsy/gifts).



> A piece I wrote and am sharing while I have "All Over Me" (Pay Me Now) on the back burner... this is me easing into it again after the trouble I mentioned having in 'chapter 3' of that series.
> 
> Dedicated to nanjscy. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

 

He would be perfect, Ramsay knew, if only he was not the way he was.

Light to cast away shadow, and depth to fill the void of shallow.

This repulsive, wearing pride like armor, and it was only a facade, some game of borrowed power.

He was an embryo of what could be... not yet birthed, but Ramsay could see--endless potentials, and none of them were happy.

That smile, so infuriating. He would have to break and remove teeth.

That skin... strong, unbroken, emitting a certain enticing musk that threatened to elude him. Ramsay could not let that happen.

He would paint the world with that skin.

Born in the place of towering rocks among seas with dead gods that were nothing, and these armies of haughty and hot-headed would invade and steal the lands that were rightfully those of the true North, free from the corruption of the South of Westeros, and the contaminant that was nomadic traveling that led to fresh breeds of new troubles, and the mockery of rule by misinformed and _small_ tender-hearted inbreeds. Their soft words and their fearful ways, those southerners that fancied themselves having any influence over the North. And then these sea-dwelling kinds that were another breed altogether.

From this breed sprang the one bearing the name of Theon Greyjoy, and how Ramsay hated him. With quivering lips and resolute eyes that were in direct contrast to one another, revealing a level of torturous conflict that was so easy for him to seize upon and exploit, the Theon had confessed to him feeling caught between two worlds and unloved by his own father... wronged by everyone. Although highborn, essentially reduced... to a bastard.

Ramsay hated him for that. How could this skin and bones bleeding and moaning hostage claiming 'Theon' ever understand that to be a bastard was to be a prisoner, and that to be unloved was to be reduced, and that to live in a world of ice and Snow was to be numb to your own heart's yearnings so that you would not even recognize your own face in a looking glass... and to be pressed in on all sides with everyone saying to you "Do this," and then another crowd of _every_ saying "No, do the opposite"... how could he understand these things when he had not the birthright of the lowly that were made for it, and look his superior 'lowly' being in the eye and act as though he had some dignity to maintain and some business to see about and some family to watch over and be proud of?

How could this Theon look Ramsay in the eye and deny him again and again?

 _ **Proud**_. He was so _proud_ of it.

Ramsay hated all that the falsity called Theon was, and although he was a liar himself he hated to be lied to. He could not let the insult that was the man's life and his ability to touch Ramsay's life with _change_ , go unpunished.

But to kill him? That was unthinkable.

Torture, flay, dismember, dispose?

No. This one was special somehow.

Ramsay could look into those eyes and read desperation. He knew desperation--all who thought they knew him would deny that he did, but they were fools who had always imagined that they could see and comprehend the inner workings of his mind and guess at the fleeting things that passed and lingered and battled within his heart.

Ramsay could see his pain. The boy-man was so stubborn! Clinging like someone drowning, to something disgusting that only added to the allure of his tainted being.

There was something broken and clumsily nailed back together inside that mind, and Ramsay sought it out with nails.

"I will tear your bones through your flesh." He said in a whisper like ice.

Fearful, pained whimpers that were quickly choked back.

There was something defiant still after weeks, months... far too many days, and Ramsay's patience at this favorite one of his games, was being severely tested.

"I will flay you alive." He said solemnly, warningly, with promise of the full truth of it as the little thing on that cross silently begged and yet spat out insults and challenges still, as he held fast to what Ramsay knew he would call sanity--to what _Ramsay_ called **willful** \--although yet another finger had been slowly and carefully skinned, its remains left to rot although the offensive creature would not be able to hold out for long without begging.. to have it _all_ removed.

Begging.

Brought in, this one that dared to call himself man, and live with knowledge of things that vexed Ramsay as their continued existence was bold-faced abuse, he had been so perfect _to the eyes._

Well, Ramsay looked deeper than the eyes, he sought to know more than the surface of the mind. But still he could not deny the idea of _pretty_... The 'man', as his form and mannerisms demanded title of (from any other, at least), was so well formed. Muscular, lean, smooth and coarse and hairy and warm and cool in all of the right places. Other people would call them the right places, and Ramsay was aware of that.

His face was appealing, the face of this Theon Greyjoy. Strong boned features, begging to be broken. Deep eyes like sea mist, a full mouth that invited much biting and tearing. A pure pleasure of color upon the skin that now writhed red, whether attached or unattached... dancing for him, dancing. It had been hues of the natural and had seemed most mystical to Ramsay who had tried not to puzzle it out.

He had watched sweat gather in the hollow of the throat of his captive, watched the glimmer of light on that single bead as it began to trickle down across the expanse of the muscled, bruised and bleeding chest... that chest that was mostly smooth, with just a few hairs. Soft but firm to the touch, cold from the chill of the dungeons, and always fluttering beneath the disturbed skin was the beat of that heart. It was like a confused war drum, pulsing erratically.

Ramsay's eyes had raked over that figure that presented as glorious but began quickly its descent into what was truly glorious--the waste of it.

Dying, but not dead.

What was dying, Ramsay thought with a chuckle in his mind too, could be kept always dying. No kraken here. Just something that was becoming something that was not Theon.

What could it be? What should _he_ be?

"Oh. My. Poor little lordling." Ramsay said sweetly, tracing with first the tip of his forefinger and then with his lovely-sharp flaying knife the definition of the strong abdomen, feeling what he imagined might be reverence as he sought to touch and found himself rather overcome with awe.

This one suffered pretty.

Better to be soft and light and just brush against it all for now, and leave the full-on touching for later... maybe. If he felt like it.

Those eyes that just took his breath away until it made him fall silent now instead of raging... Ramsay was subdued for seconds and seconds more as he watched the light shifting in and out of those eyes that looked up at him in a silent plea.

He sought out the barest whisper of a kiss, his own warm mouth feeling out the shape of the mouth that was not on a man, not on a Theon--Ramsay could not allow the existence of a Theon.

Oh, he was quite breathless indeed to find that the mouth had seized upon his in desperation. No bite, just lips and tongue, an inhalation and the most quiet of moans starting up in that throat that could give forth such endearing howls.

No more words to give the hated thing then for the moment, because for a moment there was something in it that was not hated.

Who was it now that was giving and not withholding? Surely not Theon. Theon would never.

That merging of flesh that teased, enticed, and yet somehow soothed the burning and slighted monster within him... Ramsay knew that he could have it all. He would simply have to figure out the right way on his own. He would do something differently with this one. This one had something that he wanted--not only that, but also something that he wanted to _keep_.

So variance from his originally imagined experimentation could be good. The knives needed something that this strange, elusive one could give.

Ramsay's heart was pounding and his throat was dry, and his own breath coming in little shudders as he made himself pull back from the unexpected kiss which he'd actually succumbed to, and for far too long (which was like giving up power, and he could not understand how he'd allowed himself to do such a thing), and the one on the cross that was not Theon whined at him--disappointed to have the contact taken away then. But why? All Ramsay had ever done to him had been true to his reputation as he doled out the most hellish kinds of pains.

There was a silence heavy and dark that stretched between them. So close were they, and yet so far. The air was so cold that their breath could be seen, and now it was shared, cold mists going back and forth between their mouths.

Ramsay had no words, but this fool would never shut up, it seemed.

"Pl-" wanting to beg, but having learned better than to do that, but now a new word, some proper begging, was coming out of that mouth.

"More?"

And there was a light in those pretty eyes again, not so elusive after all. It was staying as the eyes themselves stayed fixed upon Ramsay's. He knew that look of hope, and had sought to crush it fully. But there was fresh hope, somehow. Renewed as the prisoner gazed upon _him_.

Stifling the growl that wanted to come from his own throat, the sound of a tortured thing that lived deep within his chest and skirted always the iced-over barrens of his carefully walled heart, Ramsay fought against no impulse now as he returned his mouth to the creature's... the creature had no name, and would need one soon.

For this was no Theon that leaned up to pull at him now with some wordless, intangible grasp that was only emotion.

Ramsay was prepared now for how far the shivering, wretched thing would go. _More_ it had begged, and so _more_ it would seek. _More_ of **_him_**.

Interesting.

Exciting.

Arousing, and addictive.

He kept this little pretense at a kiss so light and pulled back just enough to be out of reach as the one who looked like a pretty dying man begged for him now wordlessly. This keening wail at being denied a kiss true and deep.

He felt this one's suffering go deep _through_ him... as it echoed off the walls it sank into him, right beneath the skin. He felt himself on a new kind of fire and wanting so badly to take this thing and possess him completely.

"Do you want me?" Ramsay whispered against that mouth, looking at the eyes through his own lowered eyelashes.

The miserable being inhaled sharply as though the thought of being able to touch Ramsay or be touched by him... which one was he thinking of and wanting? was _so very much_ wanted and yet something he could not allow himself.

The gasp was followed by a pull away and the duck of the head, hiding what Ramsay knew would be shame. A distressed choking sound came from his plaything, and determined that he would have access to and own it all, Ramsay roughly took hold of the other's jaw, and forced the face up toward his again so that he would see at his leisure what there was to see.

Tears fell from the pretty eyes, and the pretty mouth quivered.

And there was indeed more than enough blood left in this creature to allow a delightfully telling blush to darken not just the skin of the face but of the upper body as well. Oh, how marvelous. An almost-full-body blush. Just gorgeous...

Ramsay's touch became gentle on the face of the one who kept on insisting it was Theon, and he was enchanted by the difference he saw there now.

"Do you want me?" He asked again, quite openly with all of his surprise and curiosity revealed. Still quiet, but so very honest in this moment--something he was not accustomed to, as it seemed to go against his very nature.

But so was this one too, seeking to defy its nature. Or was it?

This not-Theon broke down in sobs, closing its eyes when Ramsay would not let it look away, and Ramsay smiled a small smile that could never begin to express the great depths of pleasure that this gave him.

He leaned in closer again, confident that a bite would not be attempted--there was something he was dealing with now that was not interested in fighting him, or resisting him in any way.

"Why?" He asked, so softly and sweetly that he was nearly whispering again.

And the shuddering thing that looked like a man fell quiet and nearly still, just shuddering and breathing quick, shallow breaths where he hung tied in place and awaiting more pain.

"Who are you?" Ramsay asked it... him... the creature was most definitely and delightfully male... he could see the shape of the most charming proof of it filling out the breeches. Now that did look impressively sized, and he had to wonder all the more about it, although he'd been quite distracted enough by that and the rest of the beauty of this creature in man-flesh, ever since he'd been brought in unconscious and undreaming of the torments that lay in wait.

There was long silence and then the strains of some whisper once he'd released his hold and turned away. Ramsay froze halfway through that turn as he heard, "Just a man. Can't take this. Make it stop. Make... me..." the pathetic plea was halted, and as he turned back he saw that once more shame and pride, some combination of, had made the being he was now impossibly captured by (although his captor was his captive?), drop his head again and leave off with the attempt at evoking pity.

Pity was not in him, Ramsay knew. Or any kind of real mercy that a human might think to ask him for.

But he had some desire now, and he had learned over time how to fix his toys when they broke, and how to keep one of them from breaking completely if he found himself particularly fond of it.

And now, he knew, he was indeed fond. And there was no way to undo _that_.

"Make you?" Ramsay said, as he turned back and looked at the trembling, despairing and nearly-broken Theon...

There was no room for Theon to remain there alongside of what he wanted.

Theon was his enemy and his tempter, and Ramsay had no patience for being teased. He never had.

This one would not tease and then withhold, as Theon had. No, he would yield gladly.

"I think I will." Ramsay said, smiling at the still-bowed head.

_I think I will make you... make you into something nice and then make you mine._

"As you have been." Ramsay said, unaware that he had not spoken all of his thoughts out loud.

This apparently caught the attention of the pretender-at-Theon, for the bowed head raised up slowly and he was looked at again by those pretty eyes that were like shimmering glass floating on the sea, reflecting both the grey-green of depthless water, and the grey-blue of endless gloomy skies... and those eyes were searching his for answers, and for understanding, not understanding that the two were not one and the same.

Ramsay searched the eyes of his would-be in return, and then looked with some great anticipation of pleasure at the rest of him again. He let himself look for a good long time, admiring what he knew was his, and then, locking gazes with his prisoner again, he decided in a sudden burst of whimsy to deviate from his prior decision; all consequences be damned.

"Oh you poor thing, look at you now..." He teased, smirking, his voice ever-soft as he considered his approach. "So broken and pathetic, an absolute ruin. You are a disgrace... Whatever shall I do with you?"

Those eyes looked wounded anew then, and there was a change in the expression, the intake of breath, and the smallest surprised whimper.

Surprised! Now that was funny.

Ramsay did laugh then, right before he said in pleasant tones, "A new game, then. You win if you beg me to flay you, and I win if you beg me to suck your cock."

Despair clouded the pretties so that the light was nearly gone completely once again, but Ramsay knew from experience now... it would only for **not** so long stay hidden.

 

_And this is the thing that I will make,_

_that I will make to love me._

_And this is the way that it will break,_

_and he will come to see me._

 

_This is the way that Ramsay loves,_

_in curiosity and thrill of a new breed_

_a way to lay waste to a man, and to waste his own seed_

_for no child of his to beg him 'take heed'._

_And Ramsay loves,_

_yes, Ramsay loves what will always linger in need._

_For Ramsay loves a ruin._

_And a ruin is Reek indeed._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is not intended as part of another series but depending on reception may have sequel (s).
> 
>  
> 
> (thanks to nanjcsy and all others who gave me encouragement concerning that, and for all those who inspired whether they know it or not)
> 
>  
> 
> As I said, this is me 'easing back in'. And I think this piece speaks to an aspect of their relationship, even before it began, that hasn't been explored much. The things that emerged were not things that I expected.
> 
> Although it's vastly different, I think I will go ahead and share it instead of just letting it sit on my computer. Trying different ways of channeling the same feeling/theme can be a valuable contribution to the genre, I would hope.
> 
>  
> 
> Thoughts, input from everyone else? lol


End file.
